Momma
by ThickerThanLove
Summary: A story from Buddi's POV: His feelings that he holds hidden.


Momma

Momma

I knew she was there.

Even though I heard no sound from the door and her feet made no creak or crunch, I knew she was there.

I don't know whether it was her scent or maybe just a wisp in the air. 

I have always been able to tell when Ursa comes in.

Oh, I don't show it. She'd leave if I did. She has a pride, she does. A pride that she believes should never be cracked, never weakened by emotions. So she waits. She waits until only she is aware. Then she comes to me. It's always early morning and she never comes a lot. It's a rarity. But I know it will come.

The mattress creaks under her added weight as she sits by me. I can feel her breath and then her fingers, caressing my face. She speaks no words, not even whispers to herself. But her fingers tell me what she feels. Incredible that they can be so tough and calloused, so unyielding to nature and harm and yet they're silk on my cheeks. I feel no toughness, just tenderness.

By day she's tough. And even now she's the same strong figure. A force that I lean to. She criticizes me. In the day, it's always, 'Toughen up!' or 'You're a Barbic! Act it!' Her words sting. I know that she tries to reach me with them, to prepare me for what she can manage. I know that but my confidence still aches when she yells. I hate letting her down. By day, I can't say a thing. So I try for her. My trials pay off and sometimes she gives praise or her words lose that acidic censure.And then some few times, she'll give me that smile of hers with a small nod, her silent praise.

I close my eyes tight when she comes. I don't want her to leave. She rarely gets close to me, save the few pats or squeezes of encouragement. She says I sleep like a rock, that a war could occur in the next room and I'd sleep through it. She's probably right. But somehow, I always feel her presence.

Sometimes she'll scoop me up, as she did that night. I'll let my body go limp, keep my eyes sealed. She'll pull me to her chest, supporting my neck with her arm. Her fingers always slip through my hair then, letting it fall back down bit by bit. 

I guess a proper word for me is orphan. I have no father, he died. My mother's dead too. She died having me. So Ursa took me in, raised me. She does a good job. Granted, I'm only thirteen. What do I know? I know that I don't have the experience others do. Some would say that she'd too harsh and cold. 

I agree at times. She can be. That's her nature. She's impulsive, says what she thinks and thinks no more of it. There are times I fight tears from her caustic terms. I never let her see me cry. I think she knows when I hide the pain though. Because behind those anger ridden eyes stirs the twinge of regret and her eyes soften a tad. 

But despite that, when someone cuts her down, no matter how my relationship is at the moment, I always strike back, tell them to take that back. They think I'm weird. Sometimes so do I. Lots of the times, when she is so strict I'm miserable. I sometimes just want to crawl into a hole and cry my heart out. 

She lays me back down after a time. She'll caress my hair a bit more and then, for a few minutes, she'll lie beside me, drape her arms over me. Then, I know that no matter what people say I'll never be an orphan. I never was, even after my birth mother died. I'll inhale then, breathe deeply and feel her scent fill me. 

She hugs me then, not too tightly, just a small squeeze. 

I always wonder then, what is a mother? Is it someone who gave birth to you or just someone that loves you? I tend to think of it as the second. Granted, a mother gives birth but a Momma loves and cares. 

So, see, I can never be an orphan.

I'm always content then, when she comes to me, wraps her arms around me. When I can smell her scent, feel her arms. All the self-doubt fades then, and all her stinging words make no difference. She tries and it's for me. So I'm always content on those nights. And even in the waking days, when her words sting like fire, I am never entirely miserable. 

I always nuzzle closer then when she hugs me.

Never an orphan.

I have Ursa.

And so I have my Momma.


End file.
